Landing

Today, I made it to Israel. This is what I wrote down in my notebook as the plane's wheels first skidded along the red dirt of the "Promised Land":

"I want to make it clear that my journey to this country is neither religious pilgrimage nor political campaign and greatly desire to remove myself from either title. I come to this region of the world as a traveler not a pioneer nor a revolutionary."

Even as I wrote these words it was difficult for me to clear my head of preconceptions about the people and the ideals at stake in this country. Looking around me I saw people about whom I could not help but make judgments, even though I had never heard them speak. This is the way it is in a land so soaked in the strong ideals of thousands of years of history. I continued as an observer, nonetheless, your humble journalist in the bush. Here are some notes I made on my journey from Vienna, Austria to Tel Aviv, Israel and my first day in the latter country.

1. Austrian Airlines was very nice. The security at the airport seemed much less than I am used to at American airports, even though I was on a flight to one of the most volatile regions in the world. However, I still felt safe. It is just that they, those crafty Austrians, have somehow removed all those security checkpoints in the States where you wait in line and say, "really? really, is this necessary?" Also, the meal on the plane had metal silverware, not plastic. And it was free. I tried hard not to start a riot.

2. I had a window seat on the plane and kept looking for telltale geographic signs to let me know what exotic foreign country we were flying over. First, there were lots of farms. Then, there were lots of beaches. Then, there was just blue. Deep Blue. Blue, blue. I guess this is the Mediterranean. Blue. Blue. And then BAM, the dusty tan of the city with blocks and blocks of buildings, coming at us like they had just risen out of the sea. This was my introduction to the country.

3. Ben Gurion Airport feels heavy. After exiting our respective airplanes we are all sent to one room to have our passports checked. All these Jews from around the world funneling into this one room, this one passageway to this one country. Jews with yarmulkes, Jews with Red Sox jerseys, Jews with really long curly sideburns, Jews with blonde hair and blue eyes, all here getting their passports checked. The waiting area is a big room with a giant ceiling where lots of people watch out for their loved ones. Some hold signs in Hebrew, some have red eyes from crying, some wait with the impatience of a 9-to-5er just putting in another day at the airport. Many feet in the air, the ceiling is dotted with silver balloons accidentally let go.

4. My Dad's apartment's neighborhood could be Berkeley, or Santa Monica, but the humidity is thick even at night. I feel very safe here (2nd time I've said that in one post: happy, Mom?). I went to go pick my sister up from the airport just now. Her flight arrived after midnight and I had to take the train. I kept thinking about what my Dad said, "Jews don't steal from other Jews, so it's okay." Well, despite the huge generalization, and the enormous amount of faith it requires in one's ethnic group, I am still impressed with the sense of security it gives me even in the darkest alley in the wee hours of the morning.

Tomorrow, my wonderful sister and father will be off enjoying a mud bath and massage at the Dead Sea, while I was given a guidebook and a handful of Shekels to enjoy myself in the city.

Will do.